


I will be the death of you

by fangirl2013



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, Shock, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 20:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5757130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl2013/pseuds/fangirl2013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margaret of Anjou is a harsh enemy. It is ill-advised to scorn her offers of kindness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I will be the death of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SketchLockwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchLockwood/gifts).



With her lips pursed and her hands upon her narrow hips, Margaret of Anjou was a formidable sight to see. Lord Somerset, despite his very nature, felt nervous. His king could put fear and terror into him as quickly as she could make him utterly adore her. Her footsteps were loud on the cobbled floor, uncommonly so for a queen so small but she continued to pace, unaware of the tension she was creating. 

Her hands dug into her hips harshly but she simply refused to care or change her stance. It didn't even enter her head. Her anger at the men around her was all consuming and with each footstep, it seemed to fill her to the core. It was all she could feel. Her small, tiny hands were tight clenched into angry fists and she wanted nothing more than to hit out against the very men fighting for. After all, it seemed every single one of them were simpletons....

 

"My queen?" Somerset was concerned but also on edge. As much as he loved her, he could hardly stop himself from being scared of her. His stomach clenched painfully at the thought of her potentional wrath. 

Margaret of Anjou turned her slender neck so she could look to him. Her blue eyes, as beautiful as they were, looked almost feral. 

"I want him dead. Dead. Dead. Dead!"

X  
Shivering, he wanted to shut the world away. His clothes were slick with his sweat and clung to his body uncomfortably. As worried as he felt, he ached for a bath. He wanted to submerge his bones in warm, scented water until he longer felt pain. Oh how he missed his home. His warm, familiar home. 

John scurried back into the thorn riddled bush and ignored the scratches that formed. His rescue would come. Someone, anyone would help him. All he needed to do was avoid detection. He refused to become her plaything again. 

Once again, his eyes screwed shut as the cold hit him. He wanted sleep. The peaceful escape that would come. He let out a weary sigh at the thought of it. A bird, not far away, chirped loudly and his tired aching eyes were instantly awake. 

The sound of hooves hitting the ground fast alerted him that was someone was approaching. Breathe caught in the back of the his throat as terror seized him. Was it her? Would she drag him back to hell? His feet had become numb from the cold but it mattered little. He was free...

A hooded woman, on horseback, cantered next to where he hid. His eyes followed her as if trying to see who she was. He searched desperately for her familiar features as nausea began to rise up in him. 

For whatever reason, she halted. It was only moments before she walking, deep in the mud the horses reins in her hands. Her cloak concealed her identity well and John still felt frozen with fear. When the woman took down her hood, he could not take his eyes from her. Even in the darkness, the lady before him was beautiful. Her figure was slim and petite. He wanted to take her away from the darkness, despite the fact he had never before felt so weak or helpless. His heart thundered violently in chest as she approached him closer. 

He barely realised that he was edging towards her. His heartbeat echoed in his ears and he found himself wanting to be near her. Her auburn hair shone against the moonlight and the sight of it brought a lump to his sore, dry throat. He found himself wondering just how she had ended in such a desolate place surrounded by mud and misery. 

Slowly, he became visible to her as edged out of the hedgegrow. He suppressed a wince as a bush nicked at his back. His broken and bloody face was caked in dry mud but it contorted as pain ran through him. 

John saw her notice him almost instantly. Her eyes widened considerably in alarm before she stepped closer to him. Worry in all of her features.

"Oh my. Are you well, sir? You must be cold. It has been a harsh winter recently." She murmured to him, looking him deep in the eyes. 

He gulped, before trying to desperately to wet his lips. He hadn't talked for so very long and even the prospect of talking made his throat ache. Even so the sound of her voice was heaven to his ears. He wanted to hear more from her. 

Finally he was able to talk. Each word intensifying the ache. 

"I-i am cold." He stammered to her, his teeth beginning to chatter loudly proving the truth of his words. 

To her credit and his pride, she didn't look at him with pitying eyes. She merely shrugged off her cloak before offering to him. It left John speechless at the sight. He wanted to say no. To refuse.... It seemed the wonderful creature before him realised as she gave him a glittering smile. 

"I am sturdier than I appear, my lord. Please accept my cloak..." She urged him, earnestly, her voice determined. 

Still, he wanted to say no. He needed to. John couldn't bring himself to speak the rejection, however. He shivered at the mere thought of it. He'd accepted the cold. What did it matter if he shivered a little? 

John opened his mouth to refuse but the words never came. The woman beat him to it. She thrust the cloak into his muddy hands, smiling. 

"Please?"


End file.
